


scoot

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Drinking, Drunkenness, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Male-Female Friendship, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sharing a Bed, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 11:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14019699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: Written for the  Cousy RomCom Challenge. Set in S5.  A bit of twist on the prompt: Daisy has to go pick up a drunk Coulson and get him back home.  It's more like: Daisy makes a drunk Coulson.





	scoot

"This isn't what it looks like."

"Self pity?"

He shrugs as she takes a bottle from beside her so he can see it, and pulls out a chair to the table, turning the back to face him with one hand.

She knows it's not. Not because he wanted to be alone. It's that he has never been one to spend time with the team, he's been private.

And changing that now would acknowledge that everything is changing. Accepting it.

Taking another drink of his beer, his eyes follow the bottle as she sets it down on the table between them, taking a seat.

"I was thinking about how we've never shared a drink before," she tells him, resting her forearms on the back of the chair, twisting the whisky bottle to open the top.

Watching her with curiosity, she offers him an acknowledgment, something like a toast, and takes a drink directly from the bottle.

"It's that kind of party?" he asks, sitting back in his chair.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, wincing. It burns going down but then it makes her feel warm inside when it hits her stomach. It makes her smile.

"Want some?" she asks him instead, evading his pointed question, twirling the bottle between her fingers. She stops, tipping the bottle towards him.

His expression seems not just guarded now, but knowing. Like he is clued in to something she's not. Perhaps some suspicion at the timing.

"Sure," he says, as she moves forward to push the bottle across the surface to him, and he opens it again, his eyes on hers, as he takes a drink.

He didn't even bother to read the label, like he was hoping for it being something good. It's not, and it makes him cough from deep in his chest for a moment, his eyebrows raised as he does look at the label now.

"It's been awhile," he tells her, pushing the bottle back towards her, the hint of a smile catching at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sorry I couldn't find fancy scotch," she handwaves at him, before taking back the bottle. "Just something I found in the stores."

"Maybe they used it as lighter fuel?" he says with a wincing expression as he watches her take another drink, and sigh deeply, closing her eyes.

"I think I had this last when I started college?" he says, pulling the bottle closer to him to look at the label again. "And then dropped out when I joined SHIELD."

"Do you regret it?" she asks, as his eyes trace along her face, like she's asked a very complicated question. "Dropping out?"

"No," he says, shaking his head, looking somewhat relieved that the question landed somewhere safe. "I don't."

He raises his eyebrows at her, as he takes another drink, this time managing to take it in, but she can see the fingers flex in his right hand.

His eyes seem brighter now, and larger, like the alcohol is starting to take effect. And things seem to move slower now, like they're becoming more liquid.

"Thanks for keeping me company," he says to her suddenly, very sincere, his guard starting to drop.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," she replies, giving him a cocky smile and pulls the bottle back towards her, taking it out of his hand.

He looks amused at that, twisting the cap between his fingers. It must be the alcohol since he's been doing a good job of hiding his annoyance at suddenly having his own personal bodyguard.

"I've been very accommodating," he says, like he's offering her a challenge, and leans forward to hand her the bottle cap.

She reaches for it, their fingers brushing.

 

###

  
They're trying not to laugh as they make their way down the hall of the base. It's late and they don't want to get caught in this state.

"I can take it from here," she tells him, stopping them both in the hall with a hand clapping his shoulder, the juncture where their quarters end up on different halls.

He looks down at it for a moment, staring at her hand on him. "Sure. Buh what about me?" he asks her, blinking at her and smiling broadly as starts to quietly snicker.

The truth is, one of their nightmares could appear, although it's sad they expect it now, and Coulson does need someone to have his back.

"I'll be a gentleman, I promise," she teases him, raising her hand like she's taking an oath, as he waits until she turns and leads before he follows her down the hall.

"I feel safer already," he says, moving in closer to her, trying not to stumble into her as they continue on in the low lighting.

When they reach his door, she turns around and then steps to the side to give him access to the door. "This was...enlightenening," she says, landing on the word.

He looks a little put out by that, his head jerking back slightly, and trying to cross his arms unsuccessfully.

"Inna nice way," she assures him., leaning her head against the door. "It's niice."

"I should walk you," he says, trying not to stumble a bit as he checks the wall with his shoulder. "Back," he adds, pointing the way they came.

She wrinkles her nose at him, at the absurdity of what he's suggesting. "No." Her head shakes and she feels dizzy for a moment.

"C'mon." He reaches forward and tries to steady her, and they both sway as he turns the knob on the door and gestures to the inside.

It distracts her as she leans to peek into the interior, supporting herself on him, surprised at this suggestion. It's not like they've had time to make this base their own, but it's his right now. There is an uncomfortable looking chair and a bed.

"I can just rest a moment," she tells him, as he goes tso shut the door, moving towards the chair, before his hand reaches out to catch her wrist, making them both flounder a little.

"Don't. I can't sleep," he tells her with a tired slur, nodding towards the bed. "You take it."

"You're just going to sit in the chair? And watch me sleep?!" she asks him, raising then lowering her voice. The idea catches him off guard, but he doesn't look like he's even about to deny it.

It's enough to make her roll her eyes and grasp the front of his shirt and toss him down onto the bed, where he lands and manages to still keep himself half upright on his elbows.

It startles her, how quickly her brain memorizing the details of him splayed out on the bed, his eyes locked onto hers as he stares back across his shoulder at her, looking her up and down like he is doing the same.

"It's that kind of party?" she asks him, trying to make light of the moment. To diffuse the tension that is crowding the room and he lowers his forehead to the bed, and flattens himself out across it in surrender.

"Scoot," she says, moving around to one side of the bed.

He shifts, moving like he's following orders and that's all, to make room for her. She lies on top of the covers beside him, curling herself into a smaller shape, trying to will herself sober.

She can hear him toeing his shoes off as they thunk to the floor, one then the other. He releases a long breath as his shoulders soften, his back to her.

Then he lifts his hand to switch off the light.

  
###

  
The headache is blinding, but at least the base is underground and she's still in the dark.

Pausing her movements, she hears the rise and fall of breathing next to her. He's sleeping and she remembers about him telling her how he can't.

Does it mean ever, or because of what he's going through right now? She doesn't know, but he is sleeping now.

He's asleep. With her here in the room. Here in his bed.

She doesn't want to shatter the moment, to have him wake up and everything be sharp stabbing pain and embarrassment for him.

But she's got to go.

It takes some concentration, in this unfamiliar room-although she's looked at all the floorplans- trying to hold it and slide out of bed at the same time, tiptoeing in the dark to the small bathroom and shutting the door quietly behind her when she's inside.

There is some low recessed lighting that makes sure no one will break their neck in the dark, which is considerate, and she can even make out the outline of herself in the mirror.

The mussed hair. There is a mental checklist she walks herself through immediately, and she nods agreeing that she didn't make a mistake.

Her reasons for bringing the bottle, for drinking with him, were because she didn't want him to be alone.

Only, that's not entirely it. She knew once he gave in, if he did, and it was a big if, that she wanted more than that.

She wanted to spend time with him. Alone with him. Hoping that he would drink with her and let his walls down, and let her take care of him the way he's tried to take care of her.

It's selfish. She just wants more of him, and she doesn't know how to ask.

She turns the sink on, washing her hands and then cupping some of the water in her hand to drink from it, then wiping it on the towel before turning it off.

Cracking the door, she listens, then starts to head for the hallway, when she hears him startle, and sit up in the bed, not able to see her but getting his bearings.

"Daisy?"

He sounds confused, like he's still not quite awake, and then she hears the covers rustling, like he's searching. Followed by a deep breath and a sigh, like resignation. He settles back down again, and moves around on top of the covers trying to get comfortable.

"I just got up to go to the bathroom," she tells him, touching his shoulder as he tenses. "Are you thirsty?"

"I'm okay," he says, and she can feel the warmth of his hand as it covers hers in the darkness. She's not sure what this-

"Stay."

He holds onto her hand until he can't and twists his body around to face her in the darkness. "You don't have to," he starts to tell her, like he's apologizing.

"No!" she says. He shouldn't be apologizing, she doesn't want an apology. "I mean-" she shakes her head, and then touches her other fingers along his shoulder, holding onto him, moving down his arm, taking it in her grip.

"Scoot," she says, with a gentle push.

He gives her a tiny laugh, and then makes room for her.


End file.
